


Are you wearing my shirt?

by ShyVioletCat



Series: Feysand Drabbles [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 21:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20513912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyVioletCat/pseuds/ShyVioletCat
Summary: Rhys walks in and gets a surprise.





	Are you wearing my shirt?

To say that Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court and the most powerful High Fae in all of history, was wasted would be an understatement. Rhys was beyond claiming any sobriety for a good few hours, and that would be with copious amounts of food and water to soak up and dilute the alcohol in his system.

He and his High Lady had taken a trip together. They were in some remote part of the Night Court at a retreat high up in the mountains where guests were left almost entirely to their own devices unless they came looking for something. Leaving Mor and Amren in charge they had packed a few things and left. Most of what they had packed was alcohol and sadly that had depleted and unfortunately they had not packed much in the way of clothes. Rhysand assumed that he would just summon what he needed but in his inebriated state he was scared as to what might appear. 

And right now he was in desperate need of a shirt.

Feyre had demanded food, she had tired of all the drinking and now insisted she was starving. To get the food one of them would need to go to the restaurant down stairs and order. He dare not use his magic to send a message to the restaurant as he may be more likely to drop a piano on them rather than I piece of paper. The dilemma Rhys had was that Feyre had taken his shirt and refused to give it back until she had eaten and he could not go down to the restaurant shirtless. Rhys was lying on the floor of the living room contemplating what to do. He had already considered the couch cushion and the table cloth that would hardly even make a cape. Then he spied it. 

There, flung on the breakfast counter was Feyre’s shirt. He had magicked his wings away a few hours ago to prevent him from knocking over the fixtures and decorations in the room, so if Feyre’s shirt was stretchy he may indeed be able to use it. Rhys stood and stumbled on the edge of the couch, almost face planting it, and after a few more unsteady steps he was there. He let out a whoop of triumph when he felt the material, it was loose fitting on Feyre to begin with but it was soft and had a decent amount of stretch in it. He slipped it over his head a put his arms through where they needed to be. 

Rhys pulled it down, and pulled it down again, and tried one last time but it still refused to sit past his belly button. Looking down Rhys rubbed his face with his hand. Feyre did not share his taste is fashion. Or more frankly his taste in black. This shirt was at least plain but it was an elegant shade of pink, because everything about Feyre was elegant. Taking a steadying breath to brave himself moved towards the the door. 

~~~~~

Elissa worked at the greeting desk of the restaurant, the guests hardly ever used it but they still offered it as one of their services. Most of the guests here took care of their food needs themselves as they often came here for a private getaway. But nothing could have prepared for the sight she saw before her now. 

The High Lord of the Night Court stumbled down the last few steps, clearly drunk. But that’s not what made her eyes widen. He was wearing a ridiculously small pink shirt. The lower part of his stomach was exposed and she was not sure how long the shirt was going to last stretched over his chest and shoulders like that. Looking around he squinted a little, clearly searching for something. He gave her a lopsided smile when he spied the counter she stood at. 

It seemed to take a lifetime for him to reach her and Elissa tried her hardest not to laugh outright at her High Lord. 

“Mmmm evening,” Rhysand said leaning on the counter for support.

“Good evening High Lord, what can I do for you?” Elissa asked with a pleasant smile. 

With his thumb and forefinger the High Lord rubbed his eyes, “Our High Lady has requested food.” 

Silence stretched a little awkwardly between them but Elissa had dealt with plenty of intoxicated guests before so she took the initiative and passed him a menu. “Is there anything in particular you would like to request?” 

The High Lord took it and squinted at the words, he shrugged a little and his shirt rolled up another two inches. Elissa had to cover her mouth when she saw him actually to turn the menu upside down in an attempt to read it better. 

“How about I choose some things for you. I can assure they are all delicious.” 

“Yes thanks,” Rhysand replied, fumbling the menu as he handed it back. Then he lent on the counter but a little unevenly and almost fell. 

“I could send it to your room if you like,” Elissa suggested. 

“That would be fantastic.” Rhysand gave her a two fingered salute and started his trek back up the stairs. 

~~~~~

The High Lady of the Night Court was not sober.

Feyre was sprawled on the couch wearing her mates’s shirt waiting for him to return. She was much more sober than he was, she had been switching out some of her drinks with water and since a lot of what they were drinking was clear alcohol it wasn’t hard to do. Watching her ‘always so perfect and put together mate’ spiral into a sloppy mess entertained her to no end. The shirt game may have been too far though. She had expected a little more protesting, maybe some bargaining. Actually she had been counting on the bargaining. But instead he had just left. 

The door handle rattled and Feyre sat up, her head spinning a little. Then Rhys walked through the door and Feyre just about fell off the couch.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” 

Rhys looked down and gave the hem of her shirt a tug, “What do you think, Feyre darling, is pink my colour?” 

Feyre cracked. She laughed so hard she snorted, more than once, then those were followed by a series of giggle fits that happened every time she tried to compose herself. Then the tears started. 

“I’ve ordered the food you demanded,” Rhys said as he approached and Feyre watched as her shirt threatened to rip with every movement of muscle. It took all of Feyre’s drunk resolve not to snort again. “Can I have my shirt back now?”

“Rhys,” Feyre fought to keep her giggling to a minimum, “the deal was you get it back after we’ve eaten.”

He flopped on the couch beside her and attempted to give her one of his feline grins, but with that shirt on there was no way Feyre could take him seriously. So she manoeuvred her way to his lap and kissed him. She broke the kiss and smiled at the way Rhys frowned in disappointment.

“In the meantime though, while we wait for this food, I think I might take my shirt back.”


End file.
